The Way We Were
by CarolineIsThine
Summary: "I don't care about Veronica." In the heat of the moment, it almost feels true. Wallace nods. "I know you don't care about her now. But if you ever did - at all - then I'm asking you to come."
1. Chapter 1

_The Way We Were – Chapter One_

_ "Delta Airlines Flight 421 is now boarding. All ticketed passengers for Flight 421 bound for San Diego, California should…"_

Logan turns the volume on his iPod back up. He's certainly been on enough flights to know the drill. He shoves the magazine he's been flipping through into his carry-on and readies himself to board the plane.

As it takes off, Logan looks regretfully back at the picturesque scenery visible beyond the airport. He has just spent a particularly blissful week at his family's lake house in Vermont - sans phone, sans Internet, sans television - and the thought of going back to Neptune is not at all appealing. It had been wonderful to be shut off from everyone and everything. No one making demands of him, no reporters hounding him, just a week of total and complete calm.

He has definitely earned it, he decided. Having just graduated two weeks ago with his Bachelor's in Fine Arts (in Screenwriting) from U.C. San Diego, he is in a fairly celebratory mood. His academic journey had definitely not been easy.

Logan had transferred from Hearst to UCSD the summer after freshman year. Between having made a mess of his relationship with Parker and being the target of a crazed Russian mafia-lord's nephew, he had thought it for the best. So he had departed the Neptune Grand and leased an apartment close to campus, where he proceeded (having nothing better to do) to attend class regularly for the first time in his academic career. To his immense surprise, he found his screenwriting classes challenging, enjoyable, and he was – to quote his favorite Professor – _"not quite as untalented as the usual riff-raff."_

His perky, blonde stewardess interrupts his daydreaming by fawning over him – asking him if he'd like anything to drink, asking him where he's been and where he's off to – he's not sure if she recognizes him from the tabloids or if she's just trying to snag a sugar-daddy. Her over-enthusiasm makes him second-guess his decision to fly First Class. Sometimes the desire for anonymity can outweigh the desire for leg room.

Just as he's debating how best to get rid of her, his phone vibrates in his pocket. He groans. He only JUST turned on the phone twenty minutes ago after a full week of having it off and already someone's bugging him.

He takes out the phone and the stewardess – Carly, maybe? Or Caylee? – clears her throat. "Um… actually, sir, you're, like, not technically supposed to use that. It's, like, the rules. Sorry." She nods earnestly, blushing.

Logan gives her his most winning smile. "Well, maybe, this can just be our little secret." He winks at her.

The stewardess smiles sweetly, then bends down to whisper in Logan's ear: _"Here's a little secret for ya, buddy. My name is Julie Roman, and I work for the Transportation Security Administration. We're conducting an internal investigation on airline compliance and passenger safety, and one of our main concerns involves terrorists who may be concealing explosives in electronics devices such as cellular phones and cameras. If I'm not doing a good enough job of convincing you to switch off the phone, my colleague in Row 25-A – the one who's posing as a Sumo Wrestler– may have better luck. I'm told he's very persuasive."_ And with that she stands up, gives him a girly grin, and plucks a cellophane bag from the cart next to her. "So can I, like, interest you in some peanuts?"

As she walks back up the aisle, Logan shakes his head in amusement. All those years spent hanging out with Veronica Mars and he has forgotten the most obvious lesson: _Never underestimate a perky blonde. The dumber they seem, the more you should worry._

**0000**

**0000**

Veronica Mars. His encounter with the stewardess/TSA Agent has dredged up unwelcome memories. Logan has been trying – albeit with limited success – to think of her as little as possible for the past two years.

The summer after his first year at UCSD, Logan had called Veronica. His head had been on pretty straight by that point; he wasn't drinking or partying quite as much, he was studying more, and making fairly good grades to boot. So he'd called her to let her know that he was doing well, and – deciding to put it all out there on the line – to see if there was any way they might be able to fit back into each other's lives.

It had been a disaster of – pardon the expression – _epic_ proportions.

The phone call had culminated in a screaming match over Veronica's unwillingness to forgive and forget "the Madison incident." Veronica had insisted that she was justified in her anger, Logan had blown up at her, and the rest (as they say) is history. _Very ancient_ history.

And despite all that had passed between them, there was something about this particular fight that had felt – even as he was flipping his cell phone shut – so very _final _to Logan. As if their relationship really had run its course and that it was healthier for both of them to stop dwelling and to move on.

But with this new realization came a dawning sense of dismay: He had fucked up _again _and lost someone close to him. First Lilly. Then his mom. Then Duncan. Hell, he had even lost his father and Beaver if it came to that. True, they were both psychopaths. But even so, there was still _something._ Maybe if he had been a better son… a better friend… a better person…

Well, that line of thinking was fairly counterproductive at this point. But now there was Veronica. Yet another relationship he had managed to destroy.

And as he was standing there, cell phone in hand, mourning his relationship with Veronica – the phone had rung. Logan had glanced at the caller display: Dick C.

Dick Casablancas, his one remaining friend. Dick, who stumbled about in a constant, drunken stupor rather than live with the pain and the guilt. Although Logan understands only too well the appeal of drugs, alcohol, and random hook-ups as an anesthetic, he could feel his friend slipping away from him like everyone else.

Picking up the phone and listening to Dick's heavily slurred and incoherent speech decided it for him then and there._ This is not happening anymore. I'm not losing anyone else_.

He had picked Dick up at the bar, driven him back to his apartment (Dick had been staying at the Grand by himself since Logan had moved out) and thrown him into the shower fully clothed. He had thrown out all the liquor in the apartment and had told Dick, in no uncertain terms, that things were going to change.

Neither of them having had a parent who would do these types of things for them, Logan was definitely improvising. First thing in the morning, he Googled "local AA meetings." A morning spent researching convinced Logan that what Dick actually needed was not Alcoholics Anonymous, but rather a program called SMART (Self Management and Recovery Training). It was secular and science-based, and rooted in behavioral psychology (which Veronica would have appreciated). Rather than focusing on how helpless and powerless you were in the grips of your "disease," it focused on how humans are capable of getting themselves into big messes – and just as capable of getting themselves out of them. Self-empowerment.

He dragged Dick to the meetings twice a week like clockwork. Without realizing it, he was absorbing the information from the SMART Recovery programs and coming to terms with some of his own problems. Logan began seeing a counselor at the UCSD student clinic, which proved to be so helpful that he convinced Dick to go to counseling at Hearst. After a few months, Logan asked Dick to stay with him in his San Diego apartment and be his roommate once more.

Two years later and their lives – while not perfect by any stretch – are not half-bad, all things considered. Dick's still in college (of course). Logan thinks it might take him an extra year or two to finish his Business Management degree, which is fine since neither rent nor tuition is a problem for either of them. Logan helps Dick with his economics homework. Dick mocks Logan's screenplays. They go chick-watching at the beach. They surf. Logan does the laundry. Dick (who's not a half-bad cook) makes them dinner. It is, (in the very, very, very NON-GAY sense of the term) well, _kind of_ a domestic partnership.

As for Veronica – well, he's run into her on occasion. Time has not been kind to her. Oh, she's still as beautiful as she ever was. More so, maybe. But she's – well, there's really no nice way to say it – a bitch. She's hard-edged, cynical, and sarcastic. As she has been ever since Lilly, really. But she's totally lacking in any of the warm qualities he used to love about her.

The sparkle of her eyes when she laughed. The delight she took in Nancy Drew-ing. The Veronica who could be (although few people saw it) fun, funny – even _silly,_ on occasion. She was still a detective, of course – however, nowadays she did it _not_ with a confident smirk, but with a grim, wrathful determination.

The sex tape had lowered her social standing – such as it was. Her father was vilified for his actions in protecting her, and Logan can tell that their relationship has suffered for it. Wallace had decided to take a year off to stay in Africa, which put a distance between him and his "BFF" that stayed intact even after he came back. And he hasn't seen her with Mac – or anybody – for a good long while. It is just her now - one angry Veronica.

And as far as Logan is concerned? He's _well_ shut of her.

**0000**

**0000**

Logan tips the limo driver and rides the elevator up to his 6th floor apartment. He shuts the door behind him, groans at the amount of dishes Dick has let pile up in his absence, and decides to order pizza rather than wash them all. Twenty minutes later, he is nearly finished unpacking when he hears the faint buzz of his phone – it is still on vibrate.

He glances at the caller display and rolls his eyes: Dick. Of course. Probably trying to get him to come surfing.

Logan answers it.

"Hey, man, what's up?"

"Hey, dude – Logan? Is that you, man? Where the fuck have you been? I've called you, like, ten times today. Did you get my messages?"

"Dude, don't get your panties in a bunch. I just got home. Oh – hold up a sec. Pizza's here."

"No, wait – Logan!"

But it's too late. Logan answers the door and finds – not the pizza delivery guy. A reporter. A young girl reporter, maybe in her early twenties, looking nervous but determined. He supposed that Star Magazine has sent her because they assume he won't send her home with a black eye like he'd done with the last one. Unfortunately for Logan, they assumed right.

"Oh, goodness!" Logan affects a southern drawl and puts his hand up to his forehead. "Why, I do declare, my popularity is just through the roof these days! Whatever can I do for you, madam? Doing a follow-up on Daddie Dearest? Mommie Dearest?" He affects a faux-surprised look. "Or do you come bearing news? Did Trina break off her engagement again?"

The reporter actually _blushes._ Wow, this one really was green. "I was actually wondering… if you wanted to offer some words of support to the Mars family during this difficult time?"

Logan frowns. Her words make no sense. "What…?"

She continues, oblivious to his confusion. "Or have you been in touch with Mr. Mars already? Did he call you and tell you the news personally?"

His mind a blur, Logan does the only thing he can think of. He picks up the phone.

"What's going on, Dick?" His mouth is dry. "Tell me."

"Dude!" Dick's voice is panicked. "Don't flip a shit, okay? Something happened yesterday…" Dick's voice is swimming in Logan's consciousness. Random words come filtering through every so often: "Veronica" and "Fitzpatricks" and "attack" and "hospital" and "life support." _Life support_. His heart seizes. His father had been on life support, briefly, as per his "Please, Please Rescuscitate!" order. They had done it, even though there had been no hope. _No hope_. His knees go weak. The phone drops to the floor.

"You… did you just find out?" that was the reporter, whom Logan had forgotten was still standing in his doorway. "They told me you _knew!_"

Logan wants to say something to her – mostly to tell her to get the fuck out - but he can't seem to speak right now.

"Shit! Are you okay?" asks the girl. "Do you need me to call someone?"

Logan shakes his head. "No," he manages to get out. "I'm fine."

The girl makes an angry, exasperated noise. "Fuck. I wasn't cut out for this. I signed up to do fashion spreads. I'm sorry. Shit, I'm sorry."

Her phone rings. "Shit," she says again. She answers it. "Ariel Schuck, Star Magazine Intern. Oh – hi, Mr. Mulroney." Her eyes flick in Logan's direction. "Yeah, he was home. He – he slammed the door in my face. Between you and me, I don't think it's a story. Whatever was between them, I think it's long over." There is a pause. "Sure. Yeah, I'll swing by Costner's. No problem."

She hangs her phone up. "I think I bought you some time. But lay low the next couple days, okay? And there might be some undercover reporters from other magazines, so don't trust anyone who…" the girl sighs. "Just don't trust anyone."

Logan attempts a weak smile. "Yeah, I already got that one covered, thanks."

The reporter smiles sympathetically and leaves.

Logan spends the next forty-eight hours obsessively watching the media coverage on Veronica. He doesn't learn much that is new. "Critical Condition." "Doctors are uncertain." "Yet to regain consciousness." "Potential brain damage." Each word stabs him through the chest. Star Magazine online has coverage on the case. He is mentioned only in passing – as in "Veronica Mars, ex-girlfriend of Aaron Echolls' son."

And there is nothing about his reaction beyond that "he could not be reached for comment."

If he weren't feeling so rotten right now, he'd take out a fucking subscription.

**0000**

**0000**

He resists Dick's attempts to get him to go surfing. He has a few drinks – not so many that Dick says anything, but more than he's had in the last few months.

"Logan, bro, you have two choices. You can sit here and be frickin' miserable. Or you can go and try to, like, chill. You know? And I know you missed your session with the shrink this week – and, like, dude – this kinda shit is _totally_ what shrinks are there for. They live for this stuff. Misery and death-"

Logan winces at the D-word.

"You know I'm right, dude."

Veronica's voice is inside his head. She is standing on the beach with Backup, wearing a pink hoodie, and she is seventeen years old. _"You're saying you want me dead?" _she'd asked him.

_"Yes,"_ he'd said. "_Yes."_

And then three months later he'd heard on his car radio that a bus with Veronica on it had gone plunging off a cliff and into the ocean. That had been a special kind of hell. And he was back in it now, after all these years. Feels like he'd never left.

**0000**

**0000**

Three days after he'd heard the news, his phone rings again. There is no name on the caller display, but he thinks he could really go for screaming at a paparazzi right now. He answers.

"Yeah?"

"Logan?" The male voice is familiar. "Hey, man, it's Wallace."

Logan sits bolt upright. "Wallace – is Veronica - ? Did Veronica - ?"

"Yeah," says Wallace. Every molecule of air seems to rush out of Logan's lungs at the same moment.

"She woke up last night," he continues.

Relief floods through Logan. "Oh," he says, not trusting himself to say more.

"Yeah. The thing is, man… we need you to come to the hospital. And see her."

Logan is not a man who is easily taken by surprise. But this request – and from Wallace, of all people – shocks him to the core.

"You're kidding," he says, half-laughing.

"Wish I was."

It's impossible, but… "Did she - _ask _for me?"

A few seconds of silence. "More like she's… expecting you."

"Why the hell would she be expecting me? She can't stand me. Last time I saw her, sh"-

Wallace cuts him off. "Man, you think I _like_ having to ask you for this?" His voice, normally so easygoing, is uncharacteristically savage. "Speaking as the one who had to pick up the pieces – believe me, I don't."

"Pick up the pieces?" growls Logan. "Yeah, you're a real pal. What'd you do – have her fax the pieces to Africa and collect them one by one?"

He'd been hoping to strike a nerve – he is spoiling for a good fight. Fighting is one of the few things he is good at. Besides sitting around uselessly while people he loves get hurt, disappear, and die. Usually they die.

Instead there's just silence. A hollow, unsatisfying silence. Broken by Wallace, who (goddammit!) sounds like he might be on the verge of crying.

"Look, yell at me all you want if it'll make you feel better, Echolls. It's nothing I haven't already been telling myself. But Veronica needs you."

Determined to provoke him into anger, Logan sighs dramatically. "Look, pal, the only thing that would make me "feel better" would be ending this conversation. Is the connection on your end okay? It is? Well, then, listen good, young man: _I don't care about Veronica."_

In the heat of the moment, it feels almost true.

Wallace takes a deep breath before saying calmly, "I know you don't care about her now. But if you ever did – at all - then I'm asking you to come."

His tone of voice is so serious that Logan's heart speeds up painfully. "You're not telling me something," Logan accuses him flatly. "Is she okay?"

Wallace sighs. "Yes, of course there are things I'm not telling you. I'm in a fucking – sorry, Ma'am – frickin' public building. And no, she's not okay. Look, are you coming or not, man? I can only make up excuses for you for so long."

_What the hell did that mean?_

His curiousity (and concern, although he wouldn't let himself believe it) got the better of him.

"When do you need me there, Fennel?"

"As soon as humanly possible, Echolls. Thanks, man. We owe you one."


	2. Chapter 2

_The Way We Were - Chapter Two_

There is, thinks Logan, an enormous difference between _dead _and _not-dead. _This difference, obvious though it may seem, is the key to his entire thought process right about now.

The reason he had panicked – and he is trying to be honest with himself, so he is admitting that yes, he really hadpanicked – at the news about Veronica was because he had thought she was either already dead or was in immiment danger of dying.

But Wallace had said that she was awake and talking. So whatever may still be wrong with her, he is placing her firmly in the category of _not-dead. _This means a few things:

It means that Logan can relax slightly; because however pissed he may be at his ex-girlfriend, he has never and will never want her dead. It also means that he can go back to not caring about her with a clear conscience. And last but not least, it means that he has not the _slightest fucking clue_ as to why he is merging off of Interstate 5 toward _**Exit 17E – Neptune Memorial Hospital.**_

And as he pulls into the parking lot – this _stupid fucking parking lot_ he has been in and out of more times than any 22-year-old should – he almost drives back out the way he came.

Why is he doing this? Who is he even doing it for? None of Veronica's friends want to see him. Certainly there is no love lost between himself and Keith Mars. And as for Veronica herself – hell, if she actually _had _asked for him then she'd either been high on medication or delirious or both.

_Actually,_ he decides, _that scenario makes some sense_. She had most likely said something about him last night– not being in her right mind, of course. And Wallace, being Wallace, had over-dramatized the situation on the phone. And Logan would show up at Veronica's room and she would scream at him and kick him out and Wallace would realize his mistake and –

God, the whole thing was almost_ too_ predictable. Why even bother going through the motions?

He sighs. Well, his shrink had always said that he and Veronica "had never allowed themselves closure." Logan had thought that their last fight had been "closure" enough, but Dr. Williston had never seemed to think so. Well, maybe – just maybe – he and Veronica have matured enough that they can have a civilized conversation. Not about their relationship, of course. Please, God, _not _about their relationship. But he's coming here, isn't he? That's an extension of the olive branch – of sorts. There's always a chance that she won't sic hospital security on his ass.

He shakes his head as he unbuckles his seatbelt and hopes that this isn't as terrible an idea as he thinks at is.

**0000**

**0000**

"Name." The bored-looking receptionist chews on her wad of gum noisily and doesn't spare Logan a glance.

"Logan Echolls," he says as quietly as he can manage while still being audible.

Now the receptionist does look up, quirking her right eyebrow and giving Logan a stern once-over.

"Ain't you that kid that's related to"-

"Oprah Winfrey?" Logan flutters his eyelashes. "Unfortunately, no, but I'm told the resemblance is striking."

The receptionist seems unamused. "Patient's name."

"Mars," says Logan. "Veronica Mars." The name feels unfamiliar to him, as though he hasn't spoken it aloud in a long time. "I'm on the list."

She scans her computer for a minute and nods. "Yeah. Room 703. Top floor, second door on the left."

It hasn't really hit him until this second. For all the distance he's tried to put between the two of them, here he is - a mere 15-second elevator ride away from Veronica Mars.

**0000**

**0000**

In spite of himself, Logan's hands are sweating horribly as he steps into the elevator. The only other people in it are a man not too much older than Logan and a young girl, maybe 3, squealing excitedly about getting to "meet her baby brother."

Logan has forgotten – if indeed, he has ever known – that hospitals can be a source of life and hope and joy for some people.

His first time in a hospital had been when he was six years old. His father had shoved him down the stairs in a fit of rage.

Logan had woken up, confused and scared to find himself in a strange place with white walls and sheets. His mother had been by his side, looking both happy and nervous at the same time.

"Logan, baby. Thank God. Don't you ever scare your father and I like that again. The stairs are not a jungle gym." She had reached down to hug him.

"Daddy pushed me."

Her features had electrified; eyebrows raising, eyes widening, mouth flattening. "No, Logan. You fell. You're confused because you hit your head." She turned to the nurse who was straightening Logan's sheets. "He hit his head," she explained again, apologetically. "He doesn't know what he's saying."

"Daddy pushed me down the stairs."

"You fell, Logan. You fell."

Logan had felt something surge up inside him – something new and frightening. And powerful. He'd narrowed his eyes at his mother and said as calmly as he could:

"Yes. Daddy made me fall."

She had cried then, the tears welling up in her eyes and spilling soundlessly down her cheeks. And he'd felt guilty and changed his story. Knowing what he knows now, he would have stuck with the truth. Logan doubts those tears had been for him, anyway.

So yeah. Hospitals. Good times. _And about to get even better_, he thinks mirthlessly as the elevators open onto the seventh floor. He takes a deep, steadying breath and walks out into the hallway.

**0000**

**0000**

There's no one here.

It's not like Logan expects a welcoming committee, but still. He glances around. No Keith, no Wallace, no Mac. He isn't sure what to do or where to go. The elevator is at the end of the hallway and Veronica's room (his heart begins speeding painfully as he notices) is visible from where he is standing. If there is a visitor's check-in or waiting area, he'll have to pass her room to get to it.

He walks as quietly as he can to her doorway, and decides to peer in briefly. Maybe someone will be in there with her. At the very least he'll be able to reassure himself that all her limbs are attached.

He steels himself for the strong possibility that he'll have his ass handed to him by a pissed off girl-detective and peers into the open room.

Veronica is in there. Logan bites back a cry of dismay at her appearance. She is sitting up in bed, looking in the opposite direction – at a television screen. He can see her profile, though. Angry red weals are splashed on her throat. Her arms are black, blue, yellow, purple – every horrible shade of bruise known to humankind. There is a red mark below her left eye. There is an IV in her arm and there are bandages on both her arms and legs.

He thinks for a minute that she is talking to someone, but he realizes that she is speaking to the television. He listens to the words emanating from the television screen and after about thirty seconds, he recognizes it. _The Great Mouse Detective._ It had always been Veronica's favorite movie as a child. Every time she stayed home sick from school, she'd watched it. He'd watched it with her a few times. Veronica is mouthing the words along with the movie and he hears her laugh – God, he's missed her laugh – at one of her favorite parts. Well, it's good to know she still laughs sometimes these days.

Logan stands there, unsure of what to do. Wallace had made it sound like there was something seriously wrong with her. And, while she admittedly looks terrible, it doesn't seem to Logan like there's any urgent information he needs to be made aware of. She seems to be in fairly good spirits. And they obviously feel comfortable enough to have left her on her own. Come to think of it, maybe he _should_ just go. Seriously – she can't really have needed him. His continued presence seems pointless. It'll probably just upset her, and what she needs is rest and relaxation in order to heal.

But his decision is taken away from him. As he shifts his weight from one foot to the next, ready to back away from the door, Veronica turns and sees him.

They lock eyes for an instant that feels like an eternity.

And as Logan opens his mouth to say something – he doesn't know what –Veronica's face softens.

Logan's heart stops beating altogether. He'd know that look anywhere, although it hasn't been directed at him in three years. It is the look she'd given him every time she'd seen him – back when she'd been _his _Veronica. Back before he'd spent two years working diligently on removing all traces of her from his life.

"Logan." Her voice catches. "You're here."

Logan has never been more confused in his life. He wills his voice not to shake. "Yeah. I'm here."

"Are you okay?" she asks him.

"Uh-huh," he replies mechanically.

She gestures to her wounds. "It's really not as bad as it looks," she says, ever the stoic. When Logan doesn't reply, Veronica continues on: "Dad said that Lamb had you down at the station, and that that's why you didn't"- Her voice catches. "-why you weren't here. Lamb doesn't think…I mean, he can't possibly think you had anything to do with this, can he?"

There are about twenty seconds of silence. During which the bottom of Logan's stomach drops out and falls to the floor. "No," he tells her finally. And truthfully.

Lamb really _doesn't _think he had anything to do with his.

Because Sheriff Don Lamb has been dead for three-and-a-half years.


	3. Chapter 3

The Way We Were – Chapter Three

"So get your ass over here already. I feel like it's been weeks since I've seen you," commands Veronica, her voice weak but playful.

Logan stays where he is. His mind is a complete, absolute blur. He is not stupid; he knows that something is horribly, horribly wrong with her. And he would be able to think clearly about what to do - if she would just stop fucking _looking _at him with those beautiful eyes. If she would just quit looking at him with that half-amused, half-adoring expression he has resigned himself to never seeing again.

Amid his panic and confusion, it is a miracle that he manages to catch the slight movement – Veronica has just fallen backward from her sitting position, as though her body has simply given out on her. She isn't remotely hurt by this, there being three or four pillows propped up behind her; but for Veronica to display vulnerability around _anyone _means that she must be in real pain.

Logan's voice is dry as he speaks. "You were saying it's not as bad as it looks?"

She smiles again, her face wan and tired. "Well, considering I look like total crap, that's really not saying all that much." Veronica's eyes flutter closed briefly, and that is all the invitation Logan needs.

"I'm gonna go get, uh, someone. A doctor." Keith. Wallace. Fucking _anybody._ Anybody who can explain what the hell is going on. And tell him that he can leave, that he can go home _- we've got this under control, we'll fix her, she'll be fine. You don't need to be here. You don't have to watch this._

It's a conscious effort to walk - and not run - out of the room. And it takes every ounce of willpower he has to turn back around when she calls out to him: "Logan, wait. Don't. I'm feeling okay, I swear."

Logan turns and sees her eyes fixed on his. They are both questioning and pleading. "Please come here. I – there's – I have to tell you something."

Logan's stomach twists_. Not good, not good, not good,_ he thinks as he crosses the room toward her.

Veronica winces as she struggles to sit up again. Once sitting, she extends her hands, palms upward – clearly expecting Logan to place his hands in hers. Logan, seeing absolutely no way out of this nightmare, sits on the furthest edge of the bed and gently takes her hands in both of his. A familiar _zing!_ of electricity shoots up his arms as his skin makes contact with hers for the first time in over two years. She jumps slightly, as though she feels it, too.

She shakes it off, however, and looks Logan straight in the eye. "I was so scared when I woke up here. I don't remember the attack specifically – Dad told me some of what happened – but when I came to in the hospital, my memories were all hazy and jumbled together. It felt like the morning after Shelly's party; and for a minute I thought that that's where I _was._ But then… ,"

She trails off, searching for the right words.

"I don't know how I did it. But my memory just snapped back into place all of a sudden. And I remembered _everything._ And I knew that, no matter what had happened to me, I would be okay. Because I have things in my life that I didn't have when I was sixteen: I have a family. I have my dad. I have Wallace. I have Mac and Weevil. I have Parker – and hell, even Piz is growing on me. We'll count him just this once, maybe." She flashes a small grin at him briefly; and then her face changes and she is as solemn and serious as he has ever known her to be.

"And I have _you_, Logan. Seriously; you have _no idea_ how much you mean to me." Her expression falters slightly; turns wistful. "Probably because I don't tell you. "

But she shakes off her regret like a discarded shawl, in true Veronica fashion. She sets her jaw, and squares her shoulders. "But that's going to change, I swear. Starting right now."

She takes a deep breath and locks eyes with Logan. Her expression is paralyzing; he can't move, he can't think. He's not even sure he can breathe.

"Logan Echolls. I lo"-

_No!_ He lets go of her hands, jumps up from the bed, and backs away from her.

The thought runs through his head: _He will die if she tells him she loves him._ He doesn't care how dramatic it sounds. He doesn't care that it's brain-damaged, memory-impaired Veronica telling him. He doesn't care if this is some fucked-up alternate reality. He doesn't care if this is all just a dream he's having. It's too much. It's too much to expect him to listen to this. Life has dealt him some pretty sucktastic hands, and he's coped as best he could, but he is not strong enough to handle this. _I will die if she tells me she loves me._

"I have to go," he tells her, his voice loud and abrupt. "I have – to go. You don't look at all well. I'm getting a doctor."

Her face twists into a mask of bewildered, uncomprehending hurt. He thinks he hears her say something to his retreating back, her voice small and pained and plaintive -

But the panicked whine in his ears drowns out her words and he's gone. He is gone. He is _out_ of there.

**0000**

**0000**

His feet carry him the entire length of the hallway. He has no idea where he is or in which direction he either is or should be heading. All he sees as he speeds around the corner is the tan-colored tiling on the floor and the whitewashed walls and the stupid-ass inspirational posters that sporadically dot the walls and – Mr. Mars.

Logan stops. Keith Mars is stepping out of a room, speaking to a person still inside it. He cups his ear, as though asking the person to repeat the question, then nods once firmly to show that the message is understood. He steps away from the door, turns in Logan's direction, and freezes.

Logan is not going to be the one to speak first. He is _owed _an explanation and by God he is going to get it.

"Logan," says Keith awkwardly. "Good to see you. Thanks for coming on such short notice."

Keith takes a few steps forward, extends his hand for Logan to shake, which Logan does – acting on autopilot the entire time.

Keith looks concerned. "Your hand is dripping sweat. Come to think it, you look like,"- and the rest of the sentence goes unsaid, because the Mars family is nothing if not intuitive. Keith's features harden.

"You didn't wait for us. You went in to see her," he says sharply.

When Logan makes no reply, Keith's worst fears are confirmed. "My God," he hisses, "do you have any idea what kind of damage you could have done? What did you tell her? Did you"-

"I didn't tell her anything." Logan bites back, his voice rising in anger. "Which is what I was told, by the way – all of _nothing."_

Keith's eyes narrow. "That had better be the case. She's very unstable right now – both emotionally and physically. I'm hoping you were perceptive enough to notice that she's suffering from some temporary memory loss."

"Yeah, well, I kind of assumed something was amiss when after two years of fighting with me and avoiding me she tried to_ tell me she loved me."_ Saying the words out loud makes the whole thing real - and for one mad moment, Logan actually thinks he's going to start crying.

He doesn't think Daddy Mars will be too thrilled to hear about this particular turn of events. But au contraire; Keith actually looks a little embarrassed – maybe even sympathetic? That's not an emotion Logan's used to seeing in others, so he's not especially adept at recognizing it.

Keith sighs. "I'm sorry. That can't have been an easy thing to hear. I'm guessing she hasn't said that to you in quite some time."

Logan is too emotionally drained to hide behind lies – or even his usual sarcasm. "Try _never._ She's never said it."

He looks pretty damn surprised to hear that; Logan's guessing that Keith's defenses are somewhat lowered as well. "You're kidding," he says finally.

"No," says Logan, despite his better judgment. "Years ago, it was probably the thing I wished for the most. To have her tell me that. And now…" He swallows the lump that has formed in his throat. "…hearing her say it? Knowing that it's a goddamn _lie?"_

Keith regards Logan seriously. After a long pause, he says hesitantly: "I don't know if this makes your situation better or worse but - she's still Veronica, Logan. If she's saying that to you, she must have meant it at some point."

Logan closes his eyes. "It makes it worse," he says, more to himself than Keith. "It makes it worse that maybe she did love me. And just never bothered to, you know, tell me. Or say it back to me when I said it to her." He opens his eyes, but stares at the floor. He can't meet Keith's eyes right now. "Yeah. It makes it worse."

Logan finally looks up – and yeah, that's pretty blatant sympathy staring back at him. Keith takes a step forward and reaches his hand up to touch Logan's shoulder – a fatherly sort of gesture.

"Don't!" spits out Logan, recoiling. "_Seriously. _I don't need your fucking sympathy, dude."

And Keith is back to normal. "It's Mr. Mars to you. Not 'dude.'I believe we've been over this."

"Yeah, we have," bites back Logan sarcastically. "And I think there are a few more rules we could stand to introduce. Like how about we _don't _have Wallace call and ask me to come to the hospital and then not give me one goddamn clue as to what's going on? Thought it would be funny to see how long it took me to figure it out?"

Keith is not budging an inch. "Wallace told you there was something wrong with her. We figured even _you_ knew enough to wait by the receptionist's desk until we came and talked to you. We were in with the X-Ray Technician. Two of Veronica's ribs were fractured and three of her fingers were sprained in the attack."

_I don't care_, Logan tells himself. _I don't care. If she'd listened to me in the first place, she would never have gone near the fucking Fitzpatricks._

"And the reason Wallace didn't warn me over the phone? And don't give me that crap about being in a public place. He could have gone somewhere private."

Keith looks taken aback by Logan's perceptivity. After a decent pause, Keith says grudgingly: "We thought if you knew, you might not come."

Logan can feel the anger pulsing through him. "And if I'd chosen not to come, could you honestly blame me?"

"As Veronica's father, yes, I would blame you. I expect you to do whatever's in my daughter's best interest."

Logan shakes his head in exasperation.

"But," says Keith, surprising him, "as a man whose marriage ended - badly to say the least – I wouldn't blame you. And if it were Lianne's friends calling me on the phone from the hospital right now, it's tempting to think that I wouldn't go. I think that says something about me. And the fact that you're here after everything that's happened tells me something about you."

Logan feels a peculiar burning behind his eyes that is either the start of tears or a migraine. Neither of which he would welcome.

"Look," says Keith. "If you're willing to help my daughter, we're going to be speaking with the neurologist in the conference rooms on the second floor. They haven't been able to tell us much about her condition, although we've been advised not to aggravate her stress level by mentioning events she doesn't remember. I'm going to go fetch Wallace – he's talking to the physical therapist about some of the simpler exercises they're working on with Veronica. If I see you down in the conference room – Room 206 – then I'll know you've made your decision."

Logan sighs. "I'll be there. Just so you know."

"I figured, but I didn't want to assume."

"Yeah, well." Logan sighs. "As much as I hate to quote from _Titanic,_ I'm kind of involved now."

Keith nods. "Well, I'm grateful all the same. And so is Veronica."

Logan represses the urge to say something sarcastic. It's very strange, he thinks, how strong the urge to be combative is – even when people are trying to be kind to him. _Especially _when people are trying to be kind to him. He'll have to ask Dr. Williston about that.

Instead he just gives Keith an awkward smile that probably comes out looking like a grimace, nods, and walks away. He hears the older man's footsteps walking in the opposite direction and feels, for the first time today, slightly less alone in all of this. It's not a bad feeling, really.

**0000**

**0000**

**0000**

Logan opens the door to Room 206 and immediately recognizes the lone occupant inside, despite the fact that the streaks in her hair had not been purple the last time he'd seen her. Cindy 'Mac' Mackenzie spins around in her seat and gives him a small smile.

"Hey, Logan. I thought I might be seeing you at some point."

She gestures tentatively to the chair next to hers and Logan crosses the room and sits down in it.

"Mac," he intones seriously, nodding at her. "A pleasure as always. It's been – how long has it been?" he asks her. He honestly can't remember.

Mac looks uncertain. "I'm not sure that I've seen you since you transferred. It's been awhile, anyway."

"What have you been up to?" he asks her, surprised to find that he's genuinely curious.

"I'm working for a small software development company in Oceanside. I've developed some anti-virus software we're trying to have patented. It's pretty cool."

"Do you - see much of Veronica?" He hadn't consciously intended to ask that question so abruptly. But it's out there now.

Mac colors. "Not really, no. You know how sometimes people grow up and just sort of drift apart?"

"Sure," says Logan, nodding.

"Yeah, well, that _wasn't_ what happened in our case. It was actually something really specific."

Logan laughs in spite of himself. "Do tell."

Mac takes a deep breath. "Okay, so – do you remember my boyfriend , Max?"

"Vaguely."

"Well, his 'business' – and I'm not in any way suggesting that I approve of said 'business'– was illegally copying and selling exams for Hearst students. And about four or five months after I started dating Max, Veronica was hired by the administration to catch whoever was distributing the exams."

"Oh…" says Logan, having a pretty good idea of where this story is going.

"Yeah, basically," says Mac. "Veronica turned him in. 'All part of the job,' she told me. And it isn't so much that I blame her for turning him in – but the way she did it? I don't know. She could have come and talked to Max or me. He would have agreed to stop if she'd asked. As it was, she got him thrown out of Hearst, and he was even in some legal trouble; fortunately he was just given community service."

Mac shakes her head in annoyance. "And it was just so _frustrating._ All the illegal things _she's_ done over the years; do you know how much trouble I could get her in if I wanted to? But she knows I never would. And afterward – well, she just wouldn't apologize. Or even _talk _to me about it. I tried, but, well, you know the way she is."

"I know the way she _was," _Logan corrects her. "So how is Max these days?"

Mac blushes again. It looks adorable against the purple of her hair. "We actually broke up two years ago. He went back to this girl, Wendy, who – do you remember? - well, I won't get into it. I don't know, maybe it's stupid that I didn't try to reconnect with Veronica when he broke up with me. It's just… in some ways, she's always seemed kind of unapproachable. Until –ironically -now. Because I went in to see her this morning, and she still thinks we're best buds. It was definitely weird." She glances sideways at Logan. "And even weirder for you, I'm guessing."

Logan smiles ruefully. "You're not wrong." He wonders something, though. "So if you and Veronica haven't been friends in over two years, why are you here?"

Mac looks defensive. "Why are _you?"_ she counters.

"I asked you first," replies Logan with an airy wave of his hand.

She rolls her eyes. "Ah, the second grade school of logic. Well, I'm here because…" She sighs. "Look, if you'd asked me a week ago, I would have said that Veronica and I just didn't have much in common anymore and that the past is the past and why go there again? But then, when Wallace called…" She shrugs. "I don't know, my reasons for not being in her life just kind of fell apart. I mean, it's _Veronica._ You know?"

Logan can't help himself. He nods. "I know." _God, does he ever know_. "So," he says brightly, trying to change the subject, "dating anyone else these days? Still pining away over your nerd with the heart of gold?"

Mac looks at the table. "Um, yeah. I'm in kind of a new relationship."

"What's his name?" asks Logan.

Mac blushes again. "Claudia," she says quietly.

Logan raises his eyebrows. "Decided to bat for the other team, did we?"

"Well, I get traded back and forth – oh, God, this is sounding wrong. I don't do sports metaphors, okay? And the answer is that I don't exclusively date women, but I sometimes do, yes."

Logan nods. "Just as long as there are videotapes."

"There are no videotapes."

"Uncool."

"Pervert."

"Prude."

A knock at the door interrupts their playful banter. Mac answers it to find Keith, Wallace, a man wearing a suit and tie, and a woman in a lab coat.

Wallace ignores Logan's death glare and sits two chairs down from Mac. Keith sits in the chair to Wallace's immediate left.

"Good afternoon to you all," begins the man. "I'm Dr. Frank Stillson. I'm a professor at San Diego State University, where I work as a clinical psychologist at our campus-run community mental health center. In addition, I conduct research at the Traumatic Brain Injury Center at Vista Memorial Hospital. This is my colleague, Dr. Veronique Anghelone. Dr. Anghelone is one of California's most respected neurologists. She has been studying trauma-induced memory loss for over twelve years. We have spent the greater part of the morning looking at the results of Veronica's MRI. And we've studied the notes that…" and he stops to glance at his notepad, "Keith, Cindy, and Wallace have reported to the hospital staff, regarding your conversations with and observations of Veronica. And we're ready to share you with you the results of our findings."

Logan feels a prickle of anticipation. But there's nothing he can do at this point but sit back and listen. And wait. And hope.

**0000**

**0000**

**0000**

"What we have here – in the opinion of both Dr. Stillson and myself – is a very rare and possibly unique confluence of events," says Dr. Anghelone, speaking for the first time.

Keith clears his throat. "I'm sorry, Dr. Anghelone – but when you say 'unique?'"-

Dr. Anghelone nods knowingly. "What I mean by that, Mr. Mars, is that in all my years of research, I have neither come across nor heard of a case exactly like Veronica's. Which is not to say it hasn't happened. But in my professional judgment, such a case has not been recorded since the advent of what we would term modern psychology. Say in the last forty years or so."

Logan is sure that the three stunned facial expressions he sees are fairly identical to his own.

"To start with," continues Dr. Anghelone, "there is no doubt at all from looking at Veronica's brain scans – and from speaking with you all – that Veronica is suffering from partial retrograde amnesia."

Logan manages to quell his instinctive response to that statement: _Ya think?_

"Her recent memories show clear signs of damage." Dr. Anghelone glances over at Dr. Stillson. "But that's really not the entire story."

Dr. Stillson takes over. "We are working on pure speculation at this point, as neither of us has come across such a case. But we'd be willing to stake our academic credentials on our hypothesis being correct."

"Normally," says Dr. Anghelone, "when a patient has memory loss – especially memory loss that extends as far back as three years - they start to pick up on clues that things aren't as they were. None of you have made an extended effort to preserve things exactly as they were three years ago, have you? By that, I mean, hairstyles, clothing, etc."

"My hair," says Mac suddenly. "It wasn't streaked purple the last time I saw her. And it's – shorter, I think."

"My hair's shorter, too," cuts in Wallace. "And I think I've grown taller."

"Wishful thinking," says Logan.

Wallace glares at him, and Logan gives him a thumbs up.

"As I was saying," continues Dr. Anghelone. "Normally patients become very quick to notice things about our appearances and mannerisms – things that aren't even apparent to us. We don't realize how much we change over the years because it happens so gradually."

"And it appears from what we know about Veronica," says Dr. Stillson, "that she is much more prone to using her powers of reasoning and deduction than the average person. She notices little things. Comments about them. Gets to the truth of the matter."

There is a general murmur of agreement around the table.

"That is really weird," says Wallace. "I'd think she would have figured it out right away – just from the way we look and the way we act around her. But she hasn't questioned it at all."

"That's where I come in," says Dr. Stillson. "My hypothesis is this: Veronica's memories _were _in fact damaged due to the head trauma she suffered. But that doesn't explain why she only retains memories of this particular time in her life, three years ago. Neither Dr. Anghelone nor myself can think of any reason – medically speaking – that her subconscious would return to this specific time."

He surveys the four people at the table. "From what I can gather, her relationships with the four of you are not nearly as strong as they were three years ago." Keith winces at this, but doesn't fight it. "I think that – subconsciously, you understand – she deliberately _chose_ to return to this point in her life. She had a strong support network. She was relatively happy. She felt safe. And I think that her body may even know – on a purely instinctual level – that it will heal much more rapidly if she's in a better place emotionally."

"I think she wants to believe that you are all still as close as you once were. And I think she's dismissing any evidence that conflicts with that desire. In short," he says, shrugging his shoulders and looking slightly embarrassed, "I think she _misses _you. All of you."

There is about thirty seconds of silence. Logan certainly has nothing to say to all of this. He's definitely feeling that migraine coming on, though.

Finally, Wallace speaks. "Okay. So assuming that you're right… just assuming that this is the case. What do we _do?"_

Dr. Anghelone sighs. "I'm afraid you're not going to like this part very much. But the truth is that we honestly don't know. Generally people who have retrograde amnesia regain their memories within a few days of the incident. So it is still definitely possible that she could get these memories back in a day or two. But in the meantime…" She looks at Dr. Stillson, who seems similarly at a loss.

"As a psychologist, I would advise you to keep doing what you're doing. Act as though it's still three years ago – but even more importantly than that – act as though you're _as close_ as you were three years ago. Mentioning events that have taken place in the last three years will only confuse and possibly terrify her. I believe – I really do – that her memories will return to her shortly, of their own accord. If they don't… well, let's take it one crisis at a time."

_That,_ thinks Logan as the two doctors pack up and exit the room, _could be considered the definition of my life._


	4. Chapter 4A

**First off, sorry for the long wait - secondly, I *promise* there will be plenty of L/V interaction in Chap. 4B. I've already written most of 4B, but it would be way too long to post as one long chapter. Thirdly, don't freak out over Ariel - I have plans for her, and I really dig her as a character, but I'm a huge LoVe fan. And fourthly, thank you SO much for the kind and wonderful reviews - I find them extremely helpful both in terms of motivation and of giving me a sense of direction as far as what's working and what's not working. And I'm so delighted that most of you seem to be enjoying it! ~ Caroline**

**0000**

**0000**

**0000**

The Way We Were – Chapter Four

The four of them don't speak or even move for what feels like a long time to Logan. The ticking of the clock on the wall sounds like a loud, ceaseless drumbeat within the silence of the conference room.

Wallace disrupts the quiet first.

"So I guess we've got our orders. Visiting hours are almost over so I'll run up and say good-bye – I'll tell Veronica that the nurses kicked all of us out but that I snuck back in. She'll believe it. Mr. Mars and I can be back in the morning. And then," he says, turning, "if Logan and Mac can get here by noon, I'll talk to the neurologist again and get some more infor"-

"There's no way."

Logan hadn't meant for that statement to be so loud. But to be honest, he didn't care all that much.

Everyone turns and looks at him quizzically.

Wallace frowns. "What did you say?"

"I said there's no way. I'm not doing this."

Keith looks at him warningly. "Logan"-

"I said _no,"_ repeats Logan vehemently. "Do you people not speak English?"

Mac shakes her head, her eyes wide and beseeching. "You said you'd help. You said"-

"Yeah, I said I'd help when I knew – like - _less_ than half of the story. When I said I'd help, I thought maybe, you know, I could help with the medical bills or something. Or I could show up and let her yell at me just to give her something to do. Hell, even when I realized she had amnesia, I thought maybe we could help her get her memories _back_ or something."

"Logan"-

Logan throws up his hands in frustration. "You can't honestly expect me to do this, can you? To go back up to that room and pretend"- He tries to calm down. "Let me spell it out for you: She _hates_ me. She wants nothing to do with me."

Keith tries again, speaking in what Logan considers to be a maddeningly placating tone. "We understand. And no one's saying the situation's ideal, but"-

"You know what would be ideal?" snaps Logan. "If my _mom_ were alive. Or if my dad had been a half-way decent person. Or – yes – if Veronica had ever loved me the way I loved her. That would be ideal."

"But what you're asking me to do is pretend that that last statement is _true_. And I'm telling you, it's like asking me to pretend that the first two are true." Logan clenches his fists. "You would never ask me to pretend that my mom is alive. It's just too cruel. And you _can't_ ask me to pretend that Veronica loves me. Because when she wakes up..."

_I won't be able to deal_, he thinks.

"…when she wakes up, she'll figure out that we've been lying to her; keeping her in the dark. You know she'll find out. And then she'll be even more pissed at me than she already was, and I think I've dodged enough death threats for one lifetime."

"So it's all about you, then?" asks Wallace coldly. "Poor you, right? And who cares what's best for Veronica?"

Logan laughs mockingly. "You guessed it, sport! And in return, I'll pretend to believe that this little crusade you're on is all about Veronica and has nothing to do with _you."_

Wallace's jaw drops. "What?"

"Maybe no one else has noticed, or maybe they're too polite to say anything. But I _know _why you're so gung-ho about helping her." With that, Logan stands up and stalks toward the doorway, hell-bent on leaving this godforsaken hospital.

Wallace splutters in the background. "What's that supposed to mean? I don't"-

Logan spins back around. "I'm not the one who _bailed_ on her when she needed someone," he hisses angrily. "_You_ are." Having delivered that parting blow, he exits the conference room, slamming the door behind him.

**0000**

**0000**

**0000**

The second Logan is out in the hallway, he is disoriented. He cannot remember which way he came – never mind the fact that he isn't thinking too clearly right now. He leans against the wall, closing his eyes and willing the emotions flooding through him right now to die down.

He hears the door open and figures that Wallace has sent Keith or Mac to try and calm him down. But no. He glances over to find Wallace himself, looking as miserable as Logan feels.

"So what do we do? Do we throw down over this?" quips Logan tiredly.

Wallace doesn't look at him. He is staring at the adjacent wall. "You were right. Back there, I mean. You were right."

"As always," agrees Logan.

Wallace pointedly ignores this. "That was messed up, what I said to you. I'm sorry."

Now that he _has_ Wallace's apology, Logan isn't entirely sure that he wanted it in the first place. "Whatever. The whole situation's messed up," offers Logan.

"Yup. Life's a bitch." Wallace smiles grimly. "Veronica taught me that one."

"Hmm. Strangely enough, I figured that one out all on my own."

"I'm not surprised."

After several seconds of uncomfortable silence, Logan decides that he can't contain his curiosity. "So what did happen between you and Veronica? You two always seemed so tight."

Wallace's gaze stays firmly fixed on the opposite wall.

"I'd never had a girl for a friend before," he says reflectively. "I mean, casual friends, yeah. But I was never close to a girl that I wasn't _with_, you know? So when we first became friends, I didn't know what to expect."

"I'm guessing it was pretty different, huh?"

Wallace looks thoughtful. "Well, see, that's the thing. It actually _wasn't_. Veronica was a girl, but she sure never acted like any of the girls I grew up with. You know how she was - didn't spend a crazy amount of time on how she looked. Aggressive. Not scared of anything. Good with cars and electronics. Wouldn't be caught dead watching _Lifetime_. More balls than men twice her size _and_ age. And don't get me wrong, I dug that about her. It made being best friends with her easy."

Logan grins. "Yeah, it didn't do much for my ego to know that my girlfriend was more butch than me."

Wallace snorts. "And for a girl – damn - she _never_ wanted to talk about her feelings. I swear to God, the frat guys I met in college were more emotionally aware than Veronica ever was. I've never met anyone so closed off."

"Yeah."

"And when I went to Africa, it was like… I don't know, man. Everyone just let me in. I mean, these people – the families that I worked with – they had had the most awful things happen to them. Painful things. Humiliating things, even. They had every reason in the world to be private and to keep things to themselves. And I was a stranger; they didn't know _jack_ about me. All they knew was that I was there to try and help. And they opened up to me."

"And when I came back to Neptune? Hell, I'm not an idiot. I knew she'd had a rough year. But she straight-up _wouldn't_ talk about it. I don't know whether she was pissed at me for leaving her or if it was just Veronica being herself."

Wallace shakes his head in frustration. "But still - what does that say, you know? If I knew more about the lives of complete strangers than I did about my supposed best friend? And then, you know what really pissed me off?"

Logan shrugs. "No."

"She didn't want to hear about my time in Africa, either. I mean, that shit really _changed_ me. But she just didn't want to listen to it. Too much for her, I guess."

"So you what – just gave up on her?" asks Logan angrily. "Is that yet another lesson you picked up in Africa? When people are too damaged to talk about what's bothering them, you just up and _bail?"_

"Logan, don't."

It's not Wallace's voice. Logan turns to see Mac, who has just stepped out of the doorway. "I told Mr. Mars I'd come check on you. I think he's going over Veronica's MRI charts."

"I didn't hear you," says Logan lamely.

"Yeah," says Mac. "I think you may have been a little busy yelling at Wallace – who doesn't deserve your wrath, by the way. He's never stopped being friends with Veronica. They still hang out; they're just not as close as they used to be. And if you're honest with yourself, you know whose fault that is."

Logan can't bring himself to talk about this anymore. "So what - did he send you to make sure I wasn't beating up on poor Wallace?"

Mac shakes her head. "No. He knew you wouldn't do that. He does want to know if you'll help, though. We can't do this without you, Logan."

Logan feels a hundred years old. He just wants to lie down and sleep for the next ten years at least.

"I still can't help feeling," he says finally, "that it's really selfish of you to ask this of me. Isn't there some way around it? Do I really _need _to be here tomorrow? Can't my 'grandmother die' unexpectedly or something?"

Wallace shakes his head. "Piz's 'grandmother died unexpectedly' – I had to say something. She still thinks he's following her around like a puppy dog. He's actually working at a radio station in Vancouver."

"And Parker's with her parents in Colorado."

Logan frowns. "Actually, I think she's still in California."

Mac sighs. "No, I mean she's 'with her parents in Colorado.' Thus explaining her absence to Veronica. Parker's still around and I could probably convince her to show, but I just thought – with you around especially – it would make things more awkward."

"Plus," continues Wallace, "we figure the fewer people who know the truth, the better. Makes things less complicated."

"And anyway," says Mac, narrowing her eyes at Logan, "even if your grandmother – or whoever – really _had_ died, you still would never have left Veronica's side and Veronica knows it. I know the way you are with each other."

"The way we _were,"_ corrects Logan. "Things change."

Mac looks unconvinced, but she doesn't press the issue. "Anyway," she says, "will you come back and see her tomorrow?"

Logan wants to say no. He really, really does. But for whatever reason, he can't.

"Yeah, fine. I'll be here in the afternoon and – oh, wait. Shit! No. I can't."

"What is it?" asks Mac, looking very alarmed.

"Well, I _– _sort ofalready went up to see Veronica." He ignores their accusatory stares.

"I went in before I knew what was wrong, okay?" he says defensively. "And it got crazy weird - she tried to tell me she loved me, and I kind of freaked out, I guess. I ran out of the room and now she's probably really pissed at me. _Shit_ – now what the hell do I do?"

Mac groans. "Well, that is both unexpected and unpleasant. Tell you what – I'll show up early tomorrow and try to have a little 'girl talk' with her. I'll run interference as best I can."

"And we'll try to make things easier on you, man. We'll try not to leave you two alone – that way she won't be able to make any moves on you. _Trust_ me. Her dad will approve of that plan. He'll help."

Mac and Wallace are looking at him with earnest, half-pleading expressions. Logan can't help but laugh.

"What's so funny?" asks Wallace suspiciously.

"Sorry," says Logan. "It's just – it's kind of hilarious, isn't it? Logan Echolls: World's Worst Boyfriend. _So_ bad that I can manage to screw up a relationship I'm not even actually _in."_

Mac smiles. "You're okay, Logan. You really are." She opens the door to the conference room and peers in. She shuts it quietly. "He fell asleep at the table," she tells them. "I don't know when the last time he slept was – I don't think he's been home since she's been here."

"I don't know, either," says Wallace. "I'll go up and say a quick good-bye to Veronica and then I'll come back down and wake him. You two go home. Rest up. You'll need it."

Mac throws her arms around Wallace – then turns toward Logan. Logan extends his hand, but Mac surprises him by drawing him into a quick hug as well.

"Drive safely," she tells them both. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Logan watches her until her brown-and-purple hair whips around the corner and he can't see her anymore.

Wallace does the same, then turns toward the elevator.

"Hey, man," says Logan quickly. "Can you tell Veronica I said"-

Wallace waits patiently.

"-good night?"

He nods. "Yeah, Echolls. I'll tell her. And – uh – about that conversation we had? About me and Veronica?"

Logan grins. "Oh, you mean that conversation we had about your _feelings?"_

Wallace meets his eyes. "Never happened?"

Logan nods in agreement. "Definitely never happened."

**0000**

**0000**

**0000**

Dick takes one look at Logan and tells him to jump in the shower and get changed –

"-cuz we're going out, dude! You need to forget about that shit at the hospital and party the night away with me. "

Logan is seriously beat, and Dick senses his reluctance.

"Come on, dude – I need a wingman! Don't make me fly solo."

Logan groans. "Dick, you have no idea how intense it was. Veronica"-

"No offense, bro, but I don't wanna hear about it, 'kay? You've always been wrapped around this chick's finger and I don't like what it does to you. Forget her tonight."

It honestly is kind of tempting. And he and Dick rarely party much these days. "Give me ten," he says finally.

Dick high-fives him. "Yay-uh! That's my _boy!"_

Two hours later, Logan and Dick are at a night club on West Washington St. called _Bar Dynamite. _They've been here for over an hour at this point and Logan still hasn't talked to anyone besides Dick. Logan is currently sitting at their table, absently dipping tortilla strips into the restaurant's (delicious) house guacamole. Dick is out on the floor, flailing his limbs wildly in time with the music; Logan supposes one might charitably call it dancing.

He rolls his eyes as he sees Dick "bump into" several hot girls – the perfect excuse to either look down a low-cut shirt or (if he's amazingly lucky) make a new "friend." He is proud of him for getting out there, though, instead of sitting in his room and drowning his sorrows. He's even prouder of the fact that Dick has ordered only one beer and has been nursing it slowly the whole night – in fact, Logan would be surprised if even two-thirds of the bottle is gone yet. Seriously, good for him.

Logan shifts his eyes to the left, away from Dick. There is a girl at the table across from him, sitting comfortably on her boyfriend's lap. The boyfriend's hand is tracing small circles on her lower back, and she is lightly combing her fingers through his hair as they both talk animatedly to their other friends.

Despite the horrifying reality of the situation he's currently in, he can't help wondering what things would have been like if he and Veronica had stayed together. When they had been together three years ago, their relationship had consisted mostly of wild love-making and lots of Chinese take-out. Would they ever have done "normal-couple" things like this? Would they have gone out to bars? Restaurants? Would they have gone dancing? Gone to the movies with friends?

Looking back on it, it's obvious to Logan that Veronica had actively tried to keep him separate from every other aspect of her life. She had hated it whenever he tried to become involved in her detective work. She had never encouraged him to become friends with either Mac or Wallace. She certainly didn't want him to be involved in her family life – as had been made _abundantly _clear to him at that laughably awful dinner with Keith.

He had thought at the time that she was ashamed of him. But now he isn't so sure. This is Veronica after all. She likes everything in her life to be compartmentalized _just so._

In fact, Veronica-

"Hey, Logan," says Dick, loudly interrupting Logan's pity-party. "I have a _very _special lady-friend I'd like you to meet. This is… uh… well, why don't you introduce yourself? That's, like, the new feminine thing to do or whatever, right?"

"I think you mean _feminist,"_ says the girl, sounding annoyed.

"Uh… yeah. Totally. No one's more feminist than me. Right, bro?" he says, winking at Logan.

Logan bites his lip to keep from laughing. He finally takes a good look at the girl. She's cute. Tall. Red-haired. And very… familiar?

It hits him suddenly. _The intern! _She is smiling nervously at him. Then she jerks her eyes quickly in Dick's direction and back at Logan hopefully, her expression very clearly spelling out: _Save me, please!_

Always willing to rescue a cute damsel-in-distress, Logan obliges. "Yeah, believe it or not, Dick, we're actually old friends. Mind if I steal her for awhile?"

Dick throws Logan a disgusted look. "Way to cockblock me, dude."

The intern bristles. "Sorry to disappoint you, but that wouldn't have been happening, _anyway."_

Dick laughs and taps her on the nose before heading back to the dance floor. "Playing hard to get, huh? That's okay – I'll just check back in with you later."

Logan and the intern exchange smiles at Dick's extreme over-confidence.

"So," he says, raising his eyebrows at the girl now looking at him from across the table. "We meet again."

"Small world," she replies with a grin, helping herself to the guacamole. "And hey – that's some friend you have."

"Who, Dick?" asks Logan, pretending to take offense.

"Oh, God – is that _really_ his name?"

"Yes. And as a bonus, it pretty much tells you all you need to know about his personality. At least around hot girls." He shrugs. "Sometimes people's names just suit them."

She laughs. "As a red-head named Ariel, I guess I can confirm that."

"Awww… like the little mermaid? Let me guess – you were on your high school swim team."

"I'll do you one better. I was _captain_ of my college's synchronized swimming team."

"Have I mentioned that I'd love to be a part of your world?"

Ariel playfully tosses a balled-up napkin at him. "Yeah - you and every guy who's used that stupid line on me since, like, the sixth grade."

Logan grins as he dodges the napkin. "Has it ever worked?"

Ariel raises her eyebrows. "I don't know, Logan. What do _you_ think?"

"I think that as a sixth-grader you probably thought it was the most romantic thing you'd ever heard."

She laughs. "You've got me there. But all it got Timmy Brasca was a box of conversation hearts on Valentine's Day – and a phone call that was basically him saying "Hello?" and me getting cold feet and hanging up."

"Maybe he should have asked to kiss the girl."

Ariel sighs with mock regret. "Guess he was just a poor unfortunate soul."

Logan narrows his eyes. "Yeah, and while we're on the subject of poor unfortunate souls – you must have had a real laugh at my expense the other day."

For a few seconds, her face registers shock. She then surprises Logan by crossing her arms over chest defensively and looking squarely at him, her expression matching his glare-for-glare. "Did I _look _like I was laughing?"

"Well, no, but"-

"I wasn't going to say anything, but since you bring it up: I got into a _lot_ of trouble over that. Especially since Celebrity Magazine followed you to the hospital this evening. My editor was pissed that I hadn't "done some more digging" and realized that you and Veronica were obviously still important to each other. I got demoted to errand-girl – and I'm _lucky_ I didn't get fired!"

"Is that why you're here? Trying to get your position back via a follow-up interview?"

Ariel bristles. "For your information, my girl friends and I come here almost every weekend. And as much as I'm sure you have your reasons for hating the paparazzi, the _only_ thing you know about me is that I could easily have printed a story entitled 'Logan Echolls Suffers Meltdown Over Ex-Girlfriend's Tragic Accident' – complete with video, by the way, since I had a camera on me – and I _didn't."_

"Well, why the hell _didn't _you, then?"

"Because I'm not a fucking _vulture,_ okay? And despite what you choose to believe, I really _was_ told that you already knew about it. I mean, it was all over the news for twenty-four hours straight."

She looks pretty damn serious. And Logan's a fairly good judge of character by now – all part of self-preservation.

"You know what? I actually think I believe you," he tells her.

"You know what? I actually don't care whether you do or not," she informs him icily.

Logan throws up his hands in frustration. "I should get you and Veronica together. Trust me when I say you'd be the very _best_ of friends."

Ariel bites her lip, looking uncertain for the first time. "How is she doing? Is she okay?"

Logan freezes. What can he possibly say? Definitely not the truth. "I, um"-

"No." She cuts him off. "Don't answer that. It might be too tempting for me to keep to myself." But she gives him a wry smile, which makes him think she's probably teasing him.

"I'm sorry you got in trouble," he tells her, by way of a peace-offering.

She shrugs. "To be totally honest, I'm _not _all that sorry. Don't get me wrong; it's not fun spending all day dropping off your boss' dry-cleaning and getting everyone's lunch orders. And it _definitely_ wasn't fun getting yelled at for twenty minutes straight. But I hated being a glorified stalker. And as you probably noticed, I was pretty terrible at it."

"So why do it?"

"I signed up to do an internship with the fashion department. It's always been my dream to do fashion commentary, and I couldn't believe my luck when I landed the internship. They're insanely competitive. But it became pretty apparent to me that they just shove the interns into whatever slot they need to fill – and then they just dangle the _possibility_ of eventually getting into your department of choice over your head. Thus forcing you to work really hard. For nothing, I might add."

"Dude, that sucks."

She laughs. "It does, a little, yeah. But don't worry about me – I'll be a success one of these days, with or without Star Magazine. And the fact that"-

"Ariel? Girl, where are you? Sandra wants to meet her stupid boy-toy at that club before last call."

Logan and Ariel turn to see a pretty African-American girl in a short silver dress scanning the crowd – but looking in the opposite direction.

Before Logan can say a word, Ariel reaches across and puts one of her hands briefly on top of his. She gives his hand a light squeeze. "Fighting aside, I had a nice time talking to you, Logan. And hey - if for some reason you ever feel like talking about your tormented childhood on national television, text me and let me know." She flashes him an unnervingly beautiful smile and shoves a napkin in front of him, on which she's written a phone number.

"Hey, wait"- he tries to call out to her, but she's already standing up to leave. He watches her saunter over to her friend, touching her lightly on the shoulder. The other girl turns around.

"Where have you _been?_ Sandra's throwing a fit. And oh my God – guess what? I heard _Logan_ _Echolls _was here tonight – that guy with the blond hair was bragging about knowing him – but he's totally not on the dance floor."

"Logan Echolls?" asks Ariel doubtfully."Even if he _is_ here - which I highly doubt -he's probably out back snorting coke in the alley. You know those Hollywood types." She glances surreptitiously in Logan's direction. Logan rolls his eyes at her and she flashes him an innocent '_who, __**me**_**?**' expression.

The other girl shakes her head. "He always looks so sad whenever they show him on the news. Ever since his dad died. They must have been really close or something."

_Or something_, thinks Logan wryly.

"Anyway," the girl insists, "I think he seems like he'd be _totally_ sweet."

From this distance, Logan can just barely make out the smile tugging at the corners of Ariel's lips. "You know?" she says finally. "I think you might be right."


End file.
